One Breath to Give
by ValentineRose28
Summary: Fang and Max has just experienced a devastating loss in the form of a stillborn birth. Can they begin to heal in the comfort of each other, or will this tragedy leave them broken and alone?


**A/N Hello readers! Ok, so if you've read any of my friendlier stuff, you know that I am obsessed with babies and families and all that jazz, right? Well, I was thinking- how likely is it, really, that Max and Fang would really end up having a healthy child? I mean, their genes are so messed up that...i don't know, who knows. This is about what would happen if their first child was stillborn.**

"Come on, Max, push!" Fang says ecstatically. My head is resting against the thin hospital pillows, my brow covered in sweat. I'm weak with exhaustion, and the pain is unbearable, but I inhale deeply and push down with all of my might. A sudden burning sensation between my legs makes me cry out, but then it's gone. The pain subsides, and Fang kisses my damp forehead gently. I let my head collapse back again and just breath deeply for a minute. Fang squeezes my hand tightly and rubs circles on my shoulder.

The room is silent, except for the steady beat of my heart rate machine. Something's wrong; I can feel it. There's just something missing...in my tired state, everything is hazy. My thoughts are jumbled and incoherent. I start to doze, but then snap wide awake.

I never heard my baby boy cry.

He never made a sound. I lift my head, which feels as if it's made of lead, and try to see what's going on. The doctor and nurses are all standing around a table, working frantically on something, but I can't see what it is. Although, I have a pretty good guess.

Dr. Mitchels, the one who was delivering the baby, comes over with a small bundle in his hands. I let go of a breath I didn't know I was holding in relief and hold out my limp arms for my son.

He places him in my arms and murmurs "I'm sorry, there's nothing we could do."

I'm confused; my baby is fine. What's he apologizing for? I look at Fang, who looks like he's trying to hold back tears, then look down at the warm bundle in my arms.

His face is still and red, falsely flushed from my blood, his lips are blue. His eyes are closed with his long black eyelashes fanned across his cheeks, and he's wrapped in a small blue blanket. There's still blood on his tiny forehead. Why isn't he moving? I gently nudge his little arm and try to jostle him awake.

He remains utterly still. He's not even breathing. The reality of the situation hits me and it's as if the the room fades to gray, and it's just me and the lifeless form in my lap. I start to cry gently and reach a tentative finger up to brush his soft cheek.

His dark hair gently curls over the top of his head. I lean over and drop a soft kiss on it, not even caring when I pull away and taste blood on my lips. I don't think it's registered yet; how devestating this should be for me. I feel...calm. Detatched. Numb. I know it'll hit me, hard, soon. But for now I need this moment with my precious baby boy.

Without even realizing it, I slowly unwrap the blanket from around his little body. I need to see...I want to know if he has wings.

He does. They're a plain dark brown, nothing extremely special, but to me they are the most beautiful things in the world. I extend one from his back and rub it between my fingertips, relishing in the silky smootheness of it.

"Max. Max, honey. Come on, let's give him back to the doctor," Fang whispers. The room lights back up around me.

"No." I clutch him close to me and push Fang away. Tears drips off my chin and wash some of the blood from his forehead.

"Max," he murmurs softly. I look at him- at the tears running down his cheeks, at his haunted eyes...

My baby isn't alive. My baby will never cry out for me in the middle of the night, will never snuggle close to me, will never smile, never laugh. Never learn to walk. Never sleep in the new crib, in the new nursery we painted two months ago.

He already feel cold against my feverish flesh.

I hand him to Fang, who studies him for a moment before passing him on to Dr. Mitchels.

I lick my cracked lips and taste the blood from my baby's matted hair, and then I start to sob. A deep pain radiates out from my abdomen, much like it had just moments earlier when I was delivering the baby. I cry out in frustration and realize that I have yet to expell to afterbirth; the damn placenta that once held my baby.

I deliver it in a blur of motions. All that I'm aware of is the throbbing pain in my stomach that lasts even after the placenta is gone. Except the difference then is that the pain moves up from my stomach to my heart and nestles in, like it's preparing for a long stay.

Fang and I lay together long after the doctor and nurses clear away. He holds me close and lets me sob into his shirt, and I let him cry into my hair. Our family is at home, waiting for our call about the birth. But we can't. If we don't say it, don't talk about it, then maybe it's not real.

Even in my half-drugged state I can't convince myself of that.

I fall asleep sometime around midnight, about two hours after the delivery. When I wake twenty minutes later, Fang is gone. Probably to call everyone at home, or to get food from the cafeteria.

The room is dimly lit by the lamp on my bedsite table, which I promptly switch off. The moonlight streams in between the slats of the eggshell colored blinds on the window.

I sit straight up, suddenly aware of something I had totally forgotten to ask earlier.

What color were his eyes?

I grew suddenly frantic. This detail was incredibly important to me, and I didn't even know why.

I pressed the "call nurse" button over and over until a white-clad nurse burst into my room and rushed over to me.

"What is it, sugar? What's wrong?" she asked while her dark-chocolate colored hands fluttered uselessly over me. I swatted them away. It was annoying.

"What color were his eyes?" I ask, my voice several octaves too high. I recognized the tone; it was hysterical. I didn't use it often.

"Whose, honey?"

"My baby's!"

"Sweetie, I don't understand what you're asking me." her brown eyes were lit up by the moon, and in them I could see sincere confusion. Fang came in then, and looked startled to see a nurse there.

"What's wrong, Max?" he came over to me swiftly and grabbed my hand in his.

"I just want to know what color his eyes were!" I wailed. He smoothed my tangled hair down over my back and kissed my forehead gently.

"They looked just like your's," he whispered. The nurse had slipped out the door, un-noticed by both of us.

"R-really?" I bit my lip to keep it from trembling. Fang squeezed my hand and nodded. This news brought on a new wave of sobs from both of us, and we fell asleep tangled in each other's limbs, with tears drying on our cheeks.

**A/N Ok, so, should this remain a oneshot, or do you think an actual story could be built out of it? Tell me what you think, pretty please! **


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